


Happy Overdue 20th Birthday, Nat.

by I_Am_Titanium



Series: Mi Vida Loca [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Lighthouse, Overdue Birthday Presents, Prompt Fic, S.H.I.E.L.D. Mission, Yacht, birthday gift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Am_Titanium/pseuds/I_Am_Titanium
Summary: At a mission Natasha mentioned she never had the chance to enjoy being 20, so Bobbi made it up for her.





	Happy Overdue 20th Birthday, Nat.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BetteFoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BetteFoo/gifts).



> This is for my dearest lady @BetteFoo . Happy 20th birthday! I promise I'll continue to be with you for all those birthday that are yet to come.
> 
> Originally written in Chinese and translated and edited by the writer. All mistakes are mine! Sorry!
> 
> Guest starring: Kate Kane, aka Batwoman, from DC universe. I love her.
> 
> And Bobbi's birth year's on her tombstone when that fake-Bobbi-actual-Skrull sacrificed. I think it's 1961, but the drawing there was really unclear. (And everybody seems to know Natasha was born in 1928 somehow.)
> 
> Enjoy!

_"Wow, now that’s interesting."_  
  
The redhead remained where she was for the past two hours: lying face down on several oil tanks piling at the parapet of the lighthouse, keeping her head down to avoid creating a shadow on anything when the light of the lighthouse swept over her direction, holding her precious antique SVD in a rather relaxed position, eyes never leaving the telescopic sight.  
  
A hundred feet beneath and a thousand feet away, there was an unusual yacht that screamed "luxurious" parking in the Jersey dock, usually infested with technicolor tights of rampant supervillains but now just colorless and lethargic, extremely standing out among a few other cumbersome tankers loaded with secretive goods planed by unknown parties (no, one of them had "A.I.M." and a target painted by sheer stupidity on the side of it. Not suitable for "aiming" at all). The lights were on, clearly for a banquet. The blonde's outstanding hearing picked up some listless music just barely, definitely one of those serenade number what. Suits that took who knew how long to tailor and roomba dresses that cost who knew how much moved around, exchanging vintage alcohol and jokes that only rich people understood.  
  
Bobbi and her hardly-a-partner partner obviously had blend in a dinner like this one for some reasons, but this was a whole new level. Nobody in the prop department could made costumes fancy enough to trick those snobby security guys no matter how hard they tried.   
  
So, hello, height, my old friend.  
  
"Can you believe she’s just 20?"  
  
The American sat at the foot of those oil tanks and shot a glance at the place where the mission was at through the portable high-power telescope she set up not long ago before returning to the military record that had been hardly deducted on a tablet supported by curled up thighs. She bit a mouthful of the chicken sandwich in her hand and elbowed a half-empty (or half-filled. Depends who you ask. But in this case, both of them would probably prefer the former one) tank with a light thud, yet the deadly sniper still remained. So she swallowed the food, cleared her throat and raised her voice in case her partner thought she was talking to herself.  
  
—No, she definitely heard. She just enjoyed being an asshole as usual.  
  
"She can’t even have some drinks to celebrate her achievement? I mean, you couldn’t stand that if it were you, right, Natasha?"  
  
"First thing first, Morse, aren’t you ashamed of your unprofessionalism as a great federal agent?" The redhead finally spoke calmly, but her right eye seemed to be glued to the telescopic sight, "Second, Mother Russia was… versatile when it comes to the action of so-called underage drinking. Last thing last…"  
  
Her left eye narrowed, her eyebrows that looked crimson in dim light when the light of the lighthouse turned away knitted tightly together. Knowing her body language (care to wager if she’s into verbal communication?) for a long time, Bobbi bit another mouth of sandwich leisurely, but her body was already on stage two alert. She ripped out the fixed telescope and took off her tactical glasses before sticking her eyes to the lenses to stare at the direction of the yacht.  
  
Nothing. The spoiled redhead heiress was still having a conversation with a blonde girl leaning against the rail on the upper deck like five minutes ago. Their gestures were still violent, urging over the same topic like five minutes ago. ("You can’t talk me out of it, Cuz! You may want the West Point, but not me!")  
  
Bobbi put down the telescope slowly, squinting her eyes to glare at the Russian, who already had a playful smile on the corner of her lips. "If you’re telling me you did that on purpose just to tease me, there will be nowhere desolate or cold enough in the whole goddamn Siberia for you to hide from my fury."  
  
"I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, blondie. Maybe I just saw beluga caviar."  
  
She snorted and grabbed the water bottle to drink. "Beluga is endangered, you jerk."  
  
"But seriously, though, they do have beluga caviar. I just saw them on the buffet bar with tiny notes." Natasha reached out a hand and waved. Bobbi sighed and shoved it into her hand, hard, before continuing to skim through her tablet, "Do you want to guess what is that gold crap on top?"  
  
"What was the last thing?" The American asked without turning away from the pad.  
  
Natasha glanced at her direction rarely and threw the bottle back. "Please don’t tell me you dived in hard and fast, completely ignoring the files. The yacht party celebrates that former beret’s 30th birthday, not 20th."  
  
"What? Oh, I’m just killing time here." Okay, that was half true, but she really didn’t need to know. Bobbi caught the bottle with one hand and shoved the oil paper in her pocket with the other, licking the sauce-covered fingers clean, "And for the record, I was talking about Daisy. She’s going on 20 in a few days. Nick just texted me to get her something as the birthday present for him."  
  
"Nick Fury told you to get Johnson a gift?" Natasha raised an eyebrow, "I didn’t realize you’re a novelist, Morse."  
  
"Laugh all you want, Romanov." Bobbi snorted again and reset the telescope, "That kid is turning 20. It's an amazing age. Haven’t you had your 20s?"  
  
"Yes, in fact. Busying assassinating party leaders spreading communism conspiracy across the European continent." Natasha replied immediately with a flat tone. There was no way of knowing if she was kidding, "Those were the real good ol’ days, Morse. No capitalism government agents chirping around me, if you know what I’m saying."  
  
Bobbi stood up suddenly to show balls just before squatting down to dodge the lighthouse light. Then she stood up for the second time, annoyed, and smacked Natasha’s fine ass cladded in black tights. Her retaliating kick missed by inches.  
  
"Don’t be so stingy, Romanov, your ass is public property beyond economic systems." The blonde backed up against a low wall and was convulsed in laughters. She was forced to change her words under Black Widow's killer stare. "And your assassination skills and so much morse, of course, but still—"  
  
"Shut up, Morse." The redhead hissed through gritted teeth and grasped a magazine to throw at her.  
  
Bobbi tilted her head to dodge it, still laughing, but the second one hit her right on the left shoulder.  
  
 _Damn, that actually hurt._  
  
"Aren’t you curious why nobody find your personality charming, Nat?" She "ow"ed dramatically and pouted, rubbing her shoulder, "This is where you should ask me 'what was it like when you were 20', things like that. It is called conversation. It flows both way."  
  
"Will that shut you up?" Her eyes almost shone chartreuse anger like a ferocious wolf in the dark.  
  
"No."  
  
"Of course. What was I thinking?" Natasha shook her head, half irritated, half amused, "Alright, fine. What was it like when you were 20?"  
  
"Well, that was quite a story! Atlanta in 1981 was hot and wet as always—"  
  
"Morse!"  
  
"Okay, okay, I’ll zip it!" Bobbi put up her hands but reached out a hand to point at the sniper, "But before that, can I switch with you? Kane’s tailor seems awesome. I want to appreciate her tuxedo."  
  
  
  
"Happy 20th birthday, Natasha!" The jingle of the keys was the perfect cue. Bobbi popped from behind the door (and kept her distance. It would be really party-pooping if the redhead thought it was a Hand ninja coming out of nowhere, thus dislocated arms when they shouldn’t be) with mixed feelings of catastrophe approaching and excitement, gift box in one hand and undisguised beaming on face.  
  
The redhead, just returned from a jog around the Central Park, froze at the doorstep, her jaw slack with subtle shock, her towel half way toward wiping her sweating forehead.  
  
Bobbi really wished there were a camera for her to capture a "WTF IS HAPPENING" meme out of it if it wasn’t a quite serious occasion.  
  
The air reached deadlock. They just staring at each other from living room and the doorway, motionless.  
  
It made everything more awkward.  
  
"Barbara Susan Morse…" Natasha started first, slowly.  
  
"Don’t! Not now! At least wait for another five minutes, after you see my gift for you." Bobbi crossed the room in two strides, half joking, and pushed a tiny jewelry box into her hand. "The answer is 'I do', though." She added, a little more solemn.  
  
"…You do realize I am 90 instead of 20, right?" Natasha smiled, resigned but stunning all the same, as she untied the ribbon and opened the box before freezing for the second time.  
  
"I’m not sure if the Red Room teaches jewelry lessons, but you should know Fabergé, right? The imperial jeweler during late Romanov dynasty. " Bobbi started gesturing wildly while explaining, neglecting her partner’s reaction, "Anyway, I owe Stephen a big one now, asking him to buy this when he time-jumped to the Alexander III era. I thought you would like it, you know? Because Romanov? And because it sets off your eyes?"  
  
In the box lay a Fabergé Easter egg pedant Bobbi had been preparing for months, the emerald shell inlaid with golden lines reflexing the pure astonishment in those green eyes. The crack circling the middle of the egg like every pedant of theirs suggested more surprise hidden inside.  
  
"There’s—There’s something else inside." Now that she was this close to actually open it, Bobbi grew more restless, wringing her hand to avoid meeting her gaze. She heard a chuckle, a click somebody made when unlocking something, worse than the sound of a lighted fuse to her ears…  
  
"…A bullet." Natasha’s voice was even flatter now, as if confused, not knowing which emotion should be shown.  
  
"Check its bottom."  
  
She froze for the third tim.  
  
"I—I took a bullet out from the mag I brought with for my first field mission—Because I thought it meant a lot for me, you know—"  
  
"Bobbi." Natasha raised her hand to stop the nervous babbling, "We aren’t 20 anymore, but I figure a 20-year-old girl can understand certain parts of your words, thanks."  
  
"Right. Sorry." Bobbi lowered her head, tugging at the hem of her shirt, kicking herself mentally.  
  
"So… you carved my name on a bullet that means a lot to you, huh?" This time Natasha couldn’t conceal the grin in her voice, like a pebble falling into the middle of a lake, sinking all the way into her heart, "Now I’m not so sure what you mean when you said you wanted to take me out."  
  
Bobbi finally found the courage to look up and met those laughing green eyes, testing her luck when she reached out for the older woman’s hands, fingers locking after removing the hindering box to place it on the counter.  
  
"Let me rephrase this." She swallowed and gratefully found her normal voice back, "Happy overdue 20th birthday, Nat."  
  
She flashed a mischievous grin, the kind that would make an insider run like hell, and took a step closer, wrapping her arms around Bobbi’s neck.  
  
"I have an overdue 20th birthday present for you."  
  
"…What would that be?"  
  
"Me."

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone recognize the beluga caviar reference? It's from a short comic intended to promote the fiction "Black Widow: Forever Red" at the end of the oneshot, "Mockingbird: S.H.I.E.L.D. 50th Anniversary". I know. This is gay.


End file.
